


thy eternal summer

by euphonie



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, This Fandom Loves Farah's Hair, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 07:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphonie/pseuds/euphonie
Summary: A few times Saul is distracted by Farah Dowling's hair (and maybe a couple times the tables were turned)
Relationships: Andreas & Farah Dowling & Ben Harvey & Saul Silva, Farah Dowling & Ben Harvey & Rosalind & Saul Silva, Farah Dowling/Saul Silva
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	1. fighting fit

**Author's Note:**

> shameless fluff and longing, set during a their time at alfea. totally AU to all my other stories! i just love these two in any way/shape/form. also, this fandom has a *thing* for farah's hair, so here ya go! pop prompts/requests in the comments

**I. he tells himself it’s purely the novelty…**

…that has him off-guard. It couldn’t _possibly_ be anything else.

After all, their first year, they’re kept separate: fairies go through who-knows-what on the other side of campus with Rosalind and company, while the specialists run drills, drills, and _more_ drills all around the castle grounds. Truth be told, Silva sometimes forgets the fairies are there at all. Only occasionally, when an explosion of magic gone awry is enough to literally knock him off his feet, does he remember that his future battle partner is _somewhere_ , over _there_.

Otherwise, Silva simply hasn’t got the time or energy to pay the fairies much mind. His overwhelming memory of first year is of feeling bloody _exhausted_. He’d rather avenge his father than make friends. All he wants to do is learn, and then mold that learning into lethal, wicked _skill_. His focus gains him the respect of peers and teachers alike, and the extra training and study he shoves into an already brutal training regimen soon wins him more bouts than he loses.

He’s getting good and he knows it. He intends to get better still.

So when the fairies finally begin joint sparring sessions with the specialists, Saul is more than a little annoyed to be going back through the basics. The instructors want the fairies to be able to hold their own without magic, and while their magical brethren clearly had summer “homework,” they’re obviously not trained to be the same kind of warriors they are. He’d be lying, though, if he said it wasn’t fun to watch the fairies get their asses absolutely _handed_ to them. He knows they can call upon formidable magics, and it’s kind of nice, for a change, to see them bested by his friends.

One after another on this crisp morning, most of the fairies are efficiently knocked down – the longest bout so far is actually when Corrin literally yelps and _runs away_ , but Instructor Thomas won’t let Evalina claim victory until she’s caught and disarmed him anyway. The specialists and fairies who have already finished their matches jeer merrily when Evalina returns, rolling her eyes and dragging Corrin into the ring by his collar.

Now, Silva and the others stand loosely in a circle, ready to spectate the final match of the day. It’s not long before their joviality dissipates as the fight before them turns tough. Farah Dowling has been paired against an intimidating third-year named Amber Pike, and to both parties’ surprise, Dowling ducks a vicious right swipe and kicks Amber’s legs out from under her. The older girl goes down in a shocked heap, and Silva winces as he hears the her _snarl_. Amber doesn’t hold back, and he’s had the broken bones to prove it.

Amber proceeds to launch herself at Farah, coming at her with a flurry of strikes that she only barely blocks. Silva finds himself admiring her grit and tenacity… and, rather accidentally, the heavy swing of her braided blonde hair. It sways back and forth in an echo of her movements, and he finds himself almost hypnotized by the glint of sun across her plait. So much so, that he isn’t quick enough to catch her when Amber’s final blow sends Farah’s staff flying through the air and her body hurtling into his.

They tumble to the ground in an inelegant tangle, her elbow knocking the breath clean out of him and her braid whipping him square across the face. Saul can hear Andreas’s howls of laughter as he struggles to prop himself up, arms slippery in the damp grass beneath them. Farah, for her part, doesn’t seem at all apologetic – if anything, she seems mostly relieved that landing on his body has protected her from the worst of the mud. He doesn’t know too much about Farah Dowling, but he can tell she’s tidy.

Farah clambers off him quickly enough, smiling with just her eyes as she extends a hand to help him up. Though he can still hear Andreas chortling beside them, Saul’s entire attention is on the graceful hand she holds out to him. She’s a fairy who can clearly hold her own in a fight, and he thinks he’d rather like to have her at his back.

A moment’s deliberation, then he accepts her outstretched hand. The fleeting warmth of her hand on his gives him a heady feeling, and even once he’s found his feet, he doesn’t feel quite steady.

 _It’s the novelty_ , he tells himself later. _The novelty of new fighting styles. Bloody fairies_.


	2. the king's speech

**II. they’re all dressed to the nines…**

… for the King’s speech at assembly, and are being herded into a long receiving line to shake the King’s hand and get thanked for their service.

Saul thinks it’s a waste of time, and hates his dress uniform, too. He believes Ben has charmed his tie to choke him like a creeping vine, and would like nothing better than to fling his hat at the Headmistress’s head like a frisbee. He bet she’d light it on fire midair, or something similarly cool.

Come to think of it, Rosalind would probably light him on fire as well as his hat, so just as quickly as the thought comes, Saul abandons it in favour of counting exactly the number of people between him and getting this absurd rite over with.

He counts starting from Ben, who is in front of him, up, up, up the line until he gets to the person currently charming the King’s socks off. It’s a young woman, talking animatedly about something that must be _hilarious_ , if the King’s booming laugh is anything to go by. Saul’s interest is piqued, but it takes him a long minute to recognise who the student is, what with her back towards him and dressed as he’s never seen her before.

To the best of his knowledge, Saul’s never seen Farah wear red ( _he would definitely have remembered_ , he thinks, mouth going dry), nor has she ever worn her long waves loose about her shoulders. Her hair spills across her back in a caramel cascade, and Saul is struck by a strong urge to find out whether her hair is as soft to the touch as it looks.

Unbidden, an image of her pushed against the nearest pillar also jumps to mind, his fingers twisted in honeyed strands and _pulling_ , such that his lips have better access to the fine column of her neck. _If he hadn’t been too warm in his dress uniform before_ , Saul thinks, tugging slightly at his braided collar, _he is now_.

Evalina interrupts by prodding him roughly between the ribs, jolting him back to reality and an awareness that _the King is_ _waiting_. Saul springs forward and sweeps a bow, praying that the King cannot tell why his pulse is racing as they shake hands. The Solarians are known for their mastery of light magic, but who knows what secrets the Royal Family keeps? He hopes never to find out.

Saul stumbles through platitudes, eager to be excused. The minute he’s dismissed, he spins and scans the room for Farah. He’s disappointed not to see her. _Ah well_ , he reckons, _time to get this stupid tie off_. Distracted, he meanders back to his rooms, hardly noticing as his friends all peel away to enjoy their evening off in honour of the King’s visit.

When he turns the corner towards his rooms, though, he’s brought up short by the sight of his favourite fairy, sitting patiently, pretty as a picture, on the floor of the hallway beside his door. Her dress pools around her like a rose in full bloom, and he thinks dumbly that he’s been bewitched, because he’s completely rooted to the spot as she smoothly rises to her feet. He opens his mouth to say something, but his brain has forgotten what words are, let alone how to arrange them into sentences.

All he can do is stare at her, as she smiles her sphinx’s ghost of a smile at him. He knows this particular expression of hers well. It’s an almost imperceptible quirk lips, and a mischievous glint in her brown eyes that means she’s very, very amused. _But he isn’t sure what’s so amusing about his heart pounding so hard he thinks it might burst_.

“No plans for a night off?” she asks, leaning against the wall next to his door.

He shakes his head mutely, not trusting himself to speak. That she’s here, dressed like _that_ , with his bed just _a few steps away_ –

“I would’ve thought Andreas had something drunken planned,” she continues on blithely, as he numbly steps closer to unlock his door. He tries several times to fit his key to the lock, but his trembling fingers betray him. He realises, this close up, that her hair isn’t really just blonde – there are all _kinds_ of colours ranging from sunny wheat to deep mocha in there.

Exhaling in frustration, he raises his hand to the doorknob once more, but is stopped by the gentle pressure of her hand on his. She takes the key from his unresisting fingers, then steps directly in front of him to unlock the door herself. He bites back a groan at her new proximity, and is rewarded for his restraint by a sharp lungful of air that is perfumed with the scent of her. He genuinely thinks _death would be preferable to this_ , because there are so many things he’d like to say and do that he just _can’t_.

When Saul makes no move to follow her through his open door, she turns to look at him archly over her shoulder. As she has on the practice grounds so many times before, she then stretches out a hand for him to take.

“It’s mutual, you idiot. Come here,” she murmurs, and tugs him towards her. And the first thing he does, when he’s sure this isn’t a dream, is reach out to run a wondering hand through her hair.

 _As soft as it looks_ , he thinks with a wide smile, and closes the remaining distance between them.


End file.
